Movie Muse
Holappa is a repressed, if not depressed, man who lives a solitary working class life. Even his best and only friend does not know his first name. Holappa values his solitude, but also has a drinking problem. Thanks to good writing and great acting, these two characters, initially unknown to each other, become very loveable to us, and potentially to each other. From the beginning they seem destined to meet and play a pivotal role in each other’s heal- ing and renewal. Their attractions and suspicions, hesitations and shy expressions, along with the mis-directions and inscrutable designs of fate, become the scaffold- ing for the entrancing and tender, urban fable that ensues. A major factor in the hypnotic spell cast by Fallen Leaves is its visual palette. Nearly every scene is presented as a unique tableau, many of which could be framed and featured in an art gallery or museum exhibit. Often there are stun- ning compositions with meaningful backgrounds or disproportionate negative space. The colors are often stunning and evocative. The lighting itself often cre- ates a sense of mystery and wonder. Probably due to the distraction of having to read subtitles, this aspect of the film, which I had appreciated on first viewing, became even more predominant the second time I watched the film.
by Peter Oppenheimer Fallen Leaves , by Finnish writer/director Aki Kourismaki, is a somewhat confounding masterpiece of world cinema. I am not alone in my praise. Fallen Leaves is a certi- fied gem. Winner of the coveted Jury Prize at last year’s Cannes Film Festival and the International Federation of Critics’ Best Film of 2023 award, along with dozens more nominations and awards, internationally.
What’s confounding is that it is not the kind of film that one would expect could attract such far-flung devotion. Movies today tend to be swollen with quick cuts and narrative threads of complex relations, dramatic revelations and a web of attempted manipulations. Even most independent films tend to concern them- selves with much bluff and bluster. Fallen Leaves is much simpler and slower than all of that, as evidenced by its long lingering shots and extended silences. A downbeat tale told with deadpan humor, Fallen Leaves is a symphony in an entirely different key than what we have come to expect or even look for in films. Kourismaki, who initially retired in 2017 after a celebrated, 35 year/19 film career, came out of retirement to make Fallen Leaves , which he called, “The fourth and lost part of my Proletariat Trilogy.” And, indeed, Fallen Leaves does the best job I’ve seen of visually, verbally and viscerally depicting the tedium, indignity, precarity and loneliness implied in much, if not most, working class life in modern, late stage, capitalist economies. The struggle to survive is real, and the deck being stacked against one is palpable. Just moments into this film, I was silently applauding Kourismaki for an unusu- ally humane and politically relevant statement, but these worn-down characters with downcast expressions seemed an unlikely backdrop to sustain my atten- tion or elicit much pleasure, not to mention its ultimate feat, of conjuring up that hypnotic spell that connecting with another person in a mutually loving way is ever-capable of casting in the heart of all. In an interview the lead actress describes Fallen Leaves as a “romantic comedy with a little tragic touch.” It is all that and more.
The soundscape and soundtrack are also dramatic contributors to the overall enchantment of the film. For one small example, note how the fizzing sound of sparkling wine being poured into glasses, encapsulates and amplifies the emotion- al import of that particular moment. Silence also is used deliberately and creative- ly. The characters themselves exhibit a comfort with silence, even when together. And these prolonged moments of silence allow much to be communicated with- out words. Kaurismaki, who wrote as well as directed the piece, is a man of few words and a master of one-liners. The soundtrack is also used very deliberately, both musically and lyrically, often serving as an ironic counterpoint to what is transpiring in the story and at other times further elucidating the mood of the characters. It can be fun to decipher which is which. While watching Fallen Leaves , I noted down a large number of tantalizing twists and turns, faints and failures, instances of tenderness and callousness, yearning and grace, humor and grief, none of which I choose to lay-out here, so as to avoid spoiling the surprises and revelations of the saga as it unfolds. Fallen Leaves at times might test our culturally-shrinking patience, but passing the test, we are rewarded a deep dive into a very precious and persistent element at the beating center of the human heart. Fallen Leaves is currently available for rental to be streamed online through several sites (search for it on justwatch.com). of being in her presence. I remember her in the kitchen rolling dough for apple strudel and baking challah on Friday afternoons. One day when I was five years old I remember coming home from kindergarten and I found that my grandmoth- er was at our house in my parent’s bedroom. She had just been brought home from the hospital. I remember the smell of carnations. A few days later she wasn’t there anymore. She had passed away. I have lost touch with the other grandchil- dren of Rachel Greenberg, but I can only imagine who and where they are today. Going back to this imposter syndrome and who I am becoming. Who I have become since the time when I was a little girl who never used to speak up in class. I was not one of the students that asked questions or had something to say. I was nearsighted and sat quietly somewhat shy of being seen and heard. But things changed when I went to college. I joined the Footlight Club and was cast in sever- al plays. I assumed different characters. When I was on stage, I wasn’t wearing my glasses and I couldn’t see anybody in the audience. I learned how speak out loud. to project my voice and to be heard. I could embody and assume different charac- ters, different personae. I was on my way, learning to be the person I am, no lon- ger an imposter. It still isn’t easy. It still takes courage to speak in front of a group of people some of them. I don’t know, perfect strangers. Here I am at 88 years old, in the ninth decade of my life and still becoming Suzanne. Still discovering who I am and what I have to say to the world.. Abracadabra!
Ansa, is a tough-minded and independent woman who works long hours in a supermarket, stocking shelves, tagging prices and tossing out expired items. At the end of the day, she rides public transit to a small apartment where she lives out a lonely life, listening to sad music on the radio, punctuated by news reports about Russia bombing hospitals in Ukraine (eerie parallels and juxtapositions with the current atrocities in the Middle East).
Becoming continued from page 14
When I think about becoming Suzanne, and being a grandmother, very present in the lives of Sadie and Jacob, I am remembering my own grandmother whose name was Rachel. I wonder about who she was before she came to America as a mother in 1911, traveling on her own with two of her youngest children. She arrived at Ellis Island to reunite with her husband and two older boys who had come to America from Poland a few years earlier to earn a living and make a new life for themselves. I feel a great sense of loss of not knowing hardly anything about Rachel. I don’t know my grandmother’s maiden name or anything about her early life. My mother had told me that Rachel was an orphan when she was married to my grandfather, Morris Greenberg. .Like most marriages in the old country, it was an arranged marriage and because Rachel had no parents. her marriage prospects were limited. Morris was considered a religious scholar, who depended upon his children to help support the family. From what I can gather it was not a marriage made in heaven. Morris was very old-fashioned and traditional and according to my mother Rachel was an independent and Modern Woman; Bur she fulfilled her role as a homemaker. Marris and Rachel had six children. My mother, the only girl was an excellent stu- dent but she had to forgo high school and go to business school instead to learn bookkeeping and stenography and then to work while she was still a teenager to help support her family. I have only one picture of Rachel Greenberg, a snapshot with me and my mom and dad and my brother. I have only fragments of memory
Page 20 SGV Community Center Stone Soup
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